Matrimonial Advice
by Delilah's Soliloquy
Summary: On the eve of his wedding to Hermione, Ron is beginning to have doubts. Luckily, the Weasleys were never ones to keep their opinions quiet. Can it be that each Weasley provides a different piece to the puzzle of having a happy marriage?
1. You'll Know What To Do

_Hello, Readers! The idea for this story came to me in several, seperate manners. First off, it is based somewhat in the reality of growing up in a big family. While my four brothers and sisters are a couple of kids short of Ron's six, I think I may equal him in the cousins department, perhaps even outstrip him a bit, as Arthur's supposedly got only two brothers and the only Prewett siblings we know of are the late Gideon and Fabian. Either way, families are alike in many ways, when you come down to it. Especially in their willingness to point young relatives setting off down the road of life in the right direction._

_In this aspect, Ron's family is no different. Though we, the readers, may have seen wedding bells in the future for Ron and Hermione very early on in the course of the series, that doesn't stop Ron from developing a moderately serious case of pre-wedding jitters. Seeking to ease his fears, he seeks advice from his family...and finds each of the Weasleys is eager to contribute his or her own view on the matter._

_The format of Ron receiving advice from each Weasley in turn is inspired by the incredibly talented **Pinky Brown**_**, **_whose Ronfics are without equal and whose latest story, _He's Leaving Home_, is a bit of an inspiration for this story. Check it out, Readers-an adorable, Hogwarts-bound Ron receives a bevy of advice there as well! _

_Well, I don't wish to carry on like this forever, Readers. _Bien merci _for putting up with my little monologue and enjoy the story!_

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You'll Know What To Do

At long last (too long, according to those who had watched them over the years), the day was near. More than near; the day was, for all practical purposes, _here_. In a little less than twenty-four hours, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would be man and wife. The Burrow, having existed in a considerable flurry of activity for the past several days, had calmed down quite a bit, largely because no destination could reasonably be expected to sustain such an activity level indefinitely. The wedding presents had been stacked neatly in Molly and Arthur's bedroom. Siblings, previously scattered between their own homes and workplaces, were arriving in a steady stream with spouses and children in tow. The Burrow itself, inside and out, had been cleaned to meet Molly's high expectations. Ron had done a thorough cleaning—more accurately, a _ransacking—_of his bedroom, throwing out the things he wouldn't need in his new life as a married man and packing the rest off to his new home—_mine and Hermione's new home_, he corrected himself.

Looking around the mostly-empty room, still inhabited by a couple of boxes and Ron's bed, made up with a bland set of sheets Molly usually saved for guests, an unsettled feeling crept up into Ron's stomach. _This is it_, he thought, _as of tomorrow, I'll be a guest in Mum's house. I'm off on my own. _

And as suddenly as he had finished this thought, it hit him. He was a man now, even moreso than he had steadily become since coming of age. He would have to leave all that was familiar and strike off into the unknown, Hermione by his side. A sense of nervous excitement he hadn't properly felt in these doses since his departure for Hogwarts stole over him.

Uneasy, Ron headed absentmindedly down the stairs. It would be suppertime soon; perhaps putting some food in his stomach would calm that restless feeling. As he walked vaguely through the sitting room, however, Ron decided on an even better solution.

Arthur, having returned from work not long ago, was settled in his usual chair by the fire, reading the _Evening Prophet_ quietly. Ron felt irresistibly like a little boy again as he faced his father, still hidden behind his newspaper, waiting to be noticed.

Arthur lowered the paper, smiling. "Well, Ron," he said in greeting, "everything packed? Are you all ready for your big day tomorrow?"

Ron swallowed painfully. "Y-yeah, I guess…"_ Why does my mouth have to go dry now?_ He swallowed again.

Arthur seemed to read his mind. "Nervous, son?" Ron nodded mutely, unsure of what exactly to say.

Arthur's smile broadened and he beckoned to the edge of the sofa. Ron sat down, eyes fixed on his father, who had folded up his newspaper thoughtfully, as though giving himself time to consider his response.

"Well, Ron," he said again, folding his fingers in his lap, "I've been married to your mother for a long time. Being married is the second hardest job in the world." Noting Ron's confused expression, Arthur elaborated. "Raising kids is the hardest."

"How'd you do it, Dad?" asked Ron, who seemed to have finally found his voice, though it came out slightly squeaky, as though it hadn't been used in a long while and had only recently been removed from a dusty box in someone's attic.

"Well, as you know, your mother and I didn't have a big wedding. We were in the middle of a war, and we decided…who knew what was going to happen? So we eloped, fairly soon after leaving Hogwarts. But the next time I saw my father, he gave me some very good, general advice. 'Arthur,' he said, 'Arthur, if you're going to stay married to this girl, and maybe even have a family with her, you need to know one thing. One thing that will make all the difference between a happy marriage and a miserable one.' And that's the same advice I'm going to give to you, son."

"What is it?" asked Ron eagerly, reminding Arthur irresistibly of a fourteen-year-old Ron, begging to know what special event was taking place at Hogwarts that year, or a five-year-old Ron, jumping to see if he could catch a glimpse of the bag of sweets Arthur had picked up on the way home from work…a rare treat, hidden behind his back to surprise his children.

"She's always right," said Arthur simply, causing Ron's brows to knit in confusion. "Hermione," he specified, and, seeing Ron opening his mouth to speak, he cut him off. "No, listen to me, son—if I had insisted on having the last word in every single disagreement I had with your mother, our marriage wouldn't have lasted a week. Think about it."

Obediently, Ron thought about it. His mother _was_ a forceful personality, any child growing up in the Weasley household could attest to that. From his own personal experience, Ron knew that going along with whatever his mother happened to want at the time (or, at least _pretending_ to) avoided a lot more trouble than forging one's own path. He thought back to the various disagreements his parents had had over the years. Had Arthur ever pressed an advantage? Had he ever stuck it out to the end? Or was Molly the inevitable victor?

"But Dad," began Ron, instantly coming to the decision that he did not want to spend the remaining decades of his life as Hermione's yes-man—or, like his father, seek refuge in the shed in the garden, tinkering with Muggle rubbish. "I don't want to always be wrong! Come on, Hermione's smart and all, but she can't _always_ be right!"

Ron had expected his father to argue, or even to cut him off again, but Arthur merely nodded. He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully and sat for a moment or two in what was evidently a pensive silence. Ron picked unconsciously at a pull in the fabric of the arm of the sofa. Yanking out the stray thread, he was dismayed to see what had previously been a nearly microscopic hole grow large enough for Ron to stick the edge of his pinky finger in. _Mum's gonna kill me!_

Arthur eyed the hole in the sofa. "You see, son," he said with the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "That's exactly your problem. That hole was a tiny little thing no one but your mother would've noticed. But you go picking at it like that, and you're going to end up with a much bigger problem than the one you started with. Leave it alone. Let her be right. What does it matter, anyway, who's right and who's wrong? Marriage isn't a Quidditch match. No one's keeping score."

Eyeing Ron's slight look of continued confusion, Arthur leaned in towards his youngest son, once a little boy coming to him for advice about dealing with his siblings, later a bigger boy seeking advice on how to deal with his friends, with girls. But here he sat, a man now, seeking his father's advice on how to deal with his wife. Arthur felt his heart sink just a tiny bit, despite his happiness for Ron. His little boy, all grown up, about to be married.

"I know what you and Hermione are like, Ron…the bickering, and all. And you're right, you can't always be wrong, just like you can't always be right. But what I'm trying to ask you is, would you rather be proved right, at the expense of Hermione's feelings, or let the little things go? What's more important to you?"

_What's more important to me? Well that's easy, really…_"You _know_ Hermione's the most important thing in the world to me, Dad," Ron insisted. "I'd do anything to make her happy. I mean, even if she _does _drive me mad sometimes…I can't even imagine what it would be like to be without her. I don't _want_ to imagine it."

Arthur nodded. "I know you don't, son. You don't need my advice. I know you two will be just fine. You'll know what to do."

Ron, however, wasn't so sure. _What does he mean, 'I'll know what to do'? I haven't a clue as to how to be married! I really don't want to mess this up…_

His thoughts took him out of his body, out of his house, into the deep recesses of his mind. His feet, on the other hand, carried him into the kitchen, where his mother was cooking supper.

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_Reviews are the chocolate on my pretzel, the peanut butter on my bagel and the roux in my étouffée. Please review!_

_Next up: Molly's advice...as if you couldn't see it coming, with Ron wandering into her territory like that!_

_On va se 'oir...soon, I hope,_

_Delilah_


	2. Mother To Son

_I'm back again, Readers, after only leaving you to wait one day for a chapter. Wouldn't it be amazing if I could keep up the pace and update every day? I sincerely hope I can. _

_Special thanks to reviewers **A Random Person**, **Adatrix, Contagious Pickle, SilverWolf77, **and **PrimroseAmelia.** I'd also like to thank you all for adding this to your Story Alerts and Favorite Stories. I'm very flattered._

_This chapter features Molly's advice to her son. Remember how worked up she was when Ron became a prefect? How she fussed incessantly over every aspect of Bill's wedding? Well, let's just say she hasn't changed much. Surviving two wars would not inspire Molly to be less...clingy? Molly-like? Insert your choice of word here._

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Mother to Son

Molly Weasley's kitchen was her sanctuary. This was common knowledge and, by extension, it served as a sort of sanctuary to her children—a steamy, ambrosial-smelling oasis where motherly advice of both the gentle and firm varieties, chicken soup that possessed astonishing healing properties and social grooming rituals abounded. Ron marveled inwardly at how, lost in his thoughts, his feet had known to lead him here, to his mother, to seek comfort in the midst of his uncertainty.

Molly was standing at the stove, stirring a steaming pot while an assortment of knives chopped vegetables around her. She was wearing her old flowered apron, her wand and what looked like a crumpled handkerchief protruding from the pocket. She wheeled around as Ron lingered in the doorway, the sixth sense she had developed in decades of childrearing alerting her to the presence of one of her children.

"Ronnie?" she asked. She looked tired, though Ron supposed the weeks of frenzied preparation for his upcoming wedding would do that to her. _Not that I asked her to do all this mad stuff...whoever said that I wanted an ice sculpture, anyway? _"What's wrong?" prompted Molly, scrutinizing Ron's face for signs of distress.

_Typical Mum, _mused Ron, _I'm not even all the way in the room yet and she knows something's up. Wonder if there's any Seer blood in her family…unless it's another one of those girl things Hermione never got around to explaining for me…_

Seeing no point in beating around the bush, Ron sank into a chair at the table. "It's this…marriage…thing, Mum—I don't know what I'm going to do. D'you really think I'm ready? I mean,"—it felt odd, really, not only to reach these disturbing conclusions, but to reach them _aloud_, in the presence of his mother, no less—"I thought I was ready, but…maybe I'll just mess it up."

Molly smiled warmly at her youngest son, pulling the handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbing lightly at her eyes as she settled herself comfortably in the chair beside him. Ron noted dully that the handkerchief was an old one, emblazoned with an FW monogram that Molly herself had probably embroidered years before, as the handkerchief awaited ten months of use at Hogwarts.

"Oh, Ronnie," she said, stowing the handkerchief up her sleeve, "don't be nervous. You were like this before you went off to Hogwarts, too, and look how weel it turned out! Besides, I know that you'll be just _fine_. I knew you and Hermione were meant to be together ever since you sent me home that letter in your first year."

Ron frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about. "What letter?" he asked in confusion.

Molly's smile widened reminiscently, the laugh lines around her eyes deepening. She looked up at the ceiling as she began to speak, as though she could actually see the letter in question before her very eyes: yellowed with age, perhaps; still bearing the words Ron had written to her in his untidy eleven-year-old's penmanship, their ink now faded. "The very first letter you sent your father and me from school. You told us about how you'd been Sorted into Gryffindor, then you added one or two lines about your classes before launching into a good two paragraphs or so about Harry, and how you two had become friends, and exactly what was so _cool_ about him. And then, at the very end, you added a little bit about the other kids you'd met at school so far, and there was this bit at the end—'and there's this other girl in our class, Hermione Granger. She's got really weird hair and she's so annoying because she never leaves me and Harry alone. What a know-it-all!' I showed your father that part and told him, 'That's your future daughter-in-law, right there!'"

Ron tried to conceal his shock. So she'd known, all these years! _What the…_I _didn't even know!_

Molly, however, didn't see anything unusual about the fact that she'd predicted her son's engagement to a girl he initially loathed years before he'd even remotely considered the possibility. She continued, unfazed by her son's apparent loss for words at this startling discovery.

"The one thing you have to know," she said, casting a quick glance at the pot on the stove—apparently not ready yet—before meeting Ron's blue eyes with her brown ones (_Hermione's eyes are brown, too, _thought Ron) "is that in order to have a happy marriage, you need to learn to compromise."

Ron jerked his mind away from contemplation of Hermione's eyes to register this last comment. _Compromise? But Dad told me…_

"Your father and I learned a long time ago that compromise was the only way we'd be able to last all these years. Sometimes, we didn't agree on what would be the best thing to do. We had to think about something other than what we wanted and consider what was best for everyone."

"For everyone?" This added a whole new variable to the equation.

"Of course, Ron," Molly insisted. "I'll admit, I wasn't too thrilled when your father decided that the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was his dream job, but it was important to him. It made him happy. I'm sure you've had to do some things in the past that you may not have enjoyed much, because they made Hermione happy."

Ron thought fleetingly, vividly, of S.P.E.W., of the fervor with which it filled Hermione, and of the way he and Harry put up with her elaborate sermons on house-elf rights, simply because they didn't want to hurt her feelings or provoke a row. He could practically see her shaking her collecting tin under people's noses in the gryffindor common room, completely oblivious to their derisive laughter. The sound of her voice, shrill and irritaing at age fourteen, pounded in his ears, nagging Ron and Harry to wear their S.P.E.W. badges in public. Ron had compromised bhy pinning his to the inside of his robes. _Is that all it takes?_

"So all I have to do is let Hermione do what she wants?" This seemed, in Ron's opinion, to fit with what his father had advised him, about Hermione always being right. Maybe there was some truth in the theory, after all.

Molly shook her head. "It's not that simple, Ron," she said, taking the roast out of the oven and setting it on the stovetop to cool for a few minutes. "Sometimes, you'll have to give up something you like for the greater good, and sometimes she'll have to do the same. You'll have to make your decisions together, and decide exactly what is most important to you."

Here it was—the 'most important' part, again. Ron sighed. He _knew_ what was most important to him, the question was, _how_ could he achieve that happy future with Hermione?

"Thanks, Mum," he said, though her advice had not quite alleviated his doubts. Molly responded by wrapping her arms around her son so tightly that he found himself struggling for air. He felt he should've seen this coming from the moment she'd whipped out the handkerchief, but he'd been too preoccupied to consider what lay ahead, and now he was paying the price for his lack of foresight. "Oh, _Ronnie_," she said, her voice muffled, as she'd buried her face in his flannel shirt. "I can't believe my little boy's getting married! It seems like only yesterday I was holding you in my arms, and now—"

Extricating himself from his mother's viselike, tearstained grip, Ron forsook the kitchen for the relative peace of the stairs, still troubled in his thoughts, but more troubled by the fact that his mother was now crying unrestrainedly into the gravy.

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_Did you enjoy it? Questions? Comments? Drop me a line! Reviews put a smile on my face, a spring in my step and a song in my heart. Please review!_

_Next up: Percy! Remember his last attempt at brotherly advice? This one should be entertaining, to say the least..._

_On va se 'oir...hopefully tomorrow! 'Til demain, then, unless something comes up._

_Delilah_


	3. Leave No Regrets

_Back again, Readers, with Chapter 3! Daily updates are looking pretty good for the rest of the week. The only days that might get tricky are Friday and Saturday, as Friday's my anniversary and Saturday I'm getting a tooth pulled. Loads of fun._

_Thanks to reviewers **PrimroseAmelia, Arianna Elizabeth Jackson **and** Adatrix, **and of course the Favorites and Alerts. You're the best, Readers, you truly are. _

_Arthur and Molly having fulfilled their parental duties, Percy decided to take a stab at advising Ron. He's certainly keen on the idea, though I can't say Ron feels the same. Enjoy!_

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Leave No Regrets

_Maybe I can get upstairs and hide out in my room until supper_, Ron thought, elaborating on this newly-formed strategy in his mind. _Then I can sort all this out for myself, and keep from setting Mum off again. Yeah, that'll do—_

"Ron?"

Ron halted. Percy's head had emerged from a doorway, blocking his progress up the stairs. Ron hesitated before replying. Whatever Percy had to say to him couldn't possibly be helpful.

"What?"

"Would you come in here for a minute? I want to talk to you."

Percy hadn't changed much since the days when they were children and he forced Ron to play Ministry of Magic, working in the capacity of his personal assistant while Ginny scribbled on parchment at their makeshift 'Reception' desk. He still had that same aura of pompousness, of self-imposed authority. _Old habits die hard, _Mrs. Weasley would say. Wondering what Percy wanted with him this time, Ron followed him into a dark bedroom, formerly that of the twins, though rarely used now that its original occupants had long since moved on.

Percy closed the door over slightly, checking surreptitiously for eavesdroppers while straightening his horn-rimmed spectacles on his nose. He had come over straight after work, as Mrs. Weasley had insisted upon having the entire family over for supper on the eve of Ron's wedding, both to help with last-minute preparations and (though no one said it aloud) to share some last golden moments together before yet another Weasley set off into the great unknown of married life.

Ron perched himself on the edge of Fred's (or was it George's?) old bed, wondering vaguely what Percy was so keen to get off his chest. It seemed like he was poised on the brink of giving Ron some sort of advice, and this possibility was not an inviting one.

"I wanted to give you some advice. I felt that you could benefit from my experience, you know...perhaps it would alleviate some of your anxiety..."

It was just as Ron had feared. It didn't even occur to him to deny experiencing any pre-marital anxiety. Vivid recollections of Percy's last attempt at brotherly advice flooded Ron's memory—a smug, self-congratulatory letter, the boiling feeling of rage erupting in Ron's stomach and coursing through his veins, the sound of parchment being torn into fragments and its acrid smell as it smouldered in the grate of the Gryffindor common room's fire. What was it this time? Ten tips for impressing his in-laws? A friendly guide to joint bank accounts? Or—horror of horrors—sex tips?

"That's okay, Percy—trust me, between Mum and Dad, I think I've gotten enough advice to last me a lifetime, so I'll just be going—"

Ron stood up and made to leave, but Percy leapt in the way again, closing the door more forcefully. "You have to hear me out," he insisted. Was that the hint of a plea in his usually brisk, businesslike voice? "It's _important_."

Steeling himself for the worst, Ron sat back down. Percy seemed to be taking deep breaths, as though the words that were fighting to escape him were wrenched out against his will.

"Don't do what I did," he gasped at last. Ron was alarmed at this sudden change in his brother's demeanor; not since that fateful night when the Weasleys had both found Percy and lost Fred, mere hours apart, had he seen his older brother look so unlike himself, so…lost.

"What was that?"

"Don't make the same mistake I did," Percy repeated. "I was stupid, back then…I let other things come before my family. I let my own pride override everything Mother and Father had ever taught me about family, and," He swallowed, apparently painfully, as he scrunched up his eyes to do so. "…and what's really important. I was a fool, Ron."

"Yeah, you were," conceded Ron. After all, this was common knowledge. But what did this have to do with his wedding?

"You don't know the worst of it, Ron," said Percy in a low voice, riddled with pain. He looked haunted, nothing like himself—as though the ghosts of the horrible choices he'd made all those years ago still kept him awake in the dark, lonely watches of the night. "I lost friends for what I did. Friends I'd had for a long time, gone. Practically overnight, as a matter of fact, or at least it _seemed_ that way, as I never saw it coming until it was too late. And Penelope…" He broke off, apparently too guilt-sticken to continue.

Ron thought fleetingly of Percy's old girlfriend, whose picture Ron had once dripped tea on, prompting Percy to fly into an indignant rage. Now he was curious…what _had_ happened between them?

"It was after I'd left home," he began, startling Ron by answering Ron's unspoken query without even needing to ask. "My bosses at the Ministry—they made it pretty clear that there were things you'd need to do, if you wanted to advance in the Ministry. And I did make changes for them, big ones, one after another. I didn't even notice that the things they were asking me to do were getting bigger and bigger. They saw Penelope's photo on my desk."

Ron prayed fervently in the one section of his brain that wasn't focused fully on this wholly riveting tale, _Please don't let him get all...emotional. My nerves really can't handle Percy's regrets._

"A Muggle-born girlfriend was too much of a liability…I was such a prat, Ron! I let her go, and for _what_? For a stupid job! You were right about me all along, and you didn't even know the worst of what I'd done!"

He seemed close to tears, or perhaps hysteria, which frightened Ron. "Don't worry, Percy," he murmured, forcing his voice to stay calm in an attempt to will his brother to be rational once more. After all, there was only room for one emotional wreck in this house tonight, and that slot had already been filled by Molly. "I would never leave Hermione for a job, you're always saying how I've got no ambition at all…"

"Not just a _job_!" hissed Percy. He looked positively fierce, determined that Ron should fully understand the message he was trying so desperately to impart, the reason he had relived such painful memories. "You can't let _anything_ come before her, and your family, and what's best for them. Do you understand me? Not your job, not time with your friends, not your dreams. Not even your own pride. Mum and Dad had to put up with a lot over the years, make do with…you know, not the best of everything…put up with us, me included, throwing it back in their faces sometimes—"

_You_ _especially_, amended Ron, recalling Percy and their father's row, the way the hateful words shook the walls and how, try as they might, the other Weasley siblings couldn't quite block out the sound. _"No ambition—no wonder we've always had to make do with next to nothing! Didn't it ever occur to you that it was embarrassing for us to go to school with secondhand robes and books? Or were you just too busy with your own lives to care? I've had to struggle against your bad reputation ever since I joined the Ministry…"_

"That's what loving someone is, Ron," said Percy, who seemed to have regained a bit of his composure, though perhaps not his normal tone of voice; he still sounded as though he was recovering from a bit of a head cold. "Being willing to look like a prat if it means that they would be better off, admitting when you're wrong. Don't go to bed angry. No matter how angry you get, promise me you won't let things get out of hand like I did."

Ron felt truly out of place, now, and shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, hoping that he'd be able to leave and yet strangely hoping to hear more. It wasn't often that Percy admitted to his own faults, much less in the presence of his younger siblings. But he apparently was in a confessional mood this evening, for he continued.

"I was almost too late. I had wanted to come back for a while, you know, and I—I just didn't know how to go about it. Something terrible could have happened at any time—and you never would have known how sorry I was." He looked down at the bed where Ron was sitting, clearly grief-stricken. "I still feel guilty sometimes…like I never got the chance to make it up to Fred…"

It was as though the breath had caught in Ron's chest, and turned to ice there. At last, he understood what Percy was getting at, why he had cornered Ron in Fred and George's old bedroom. How would he feel if, someday in the future, he and Hermione had a row and he went off to work angry, only to be run down by the Knight Bus before he could tell her how very sorry he was, and how dearly he loved her? How dreadful! The very image, although it existed only in his mind, made his blood run cold.

"Thanks, Percy," said Ron, and he truly meant it this time. Not knowing what prompted him to do it, he hugged his brother, letting go extremely quickly. "I know exactly what you mean. I really appreciate it, you know," he added somewhat sheepishly, gazing around the dark, long abandoned bedroom, looking carefully anywhere except into his brother's eyes. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but…I'm really nervous. It means a lot to me, that you told me this. I know it must've been pretty hard for you," Ron conceded. Percy was straightening his glasses again, apparently without noticing. He nodded in acknowledgement, and Ron edged towards the door, wondering if the brotherly bonding session was at an end. "Well…better wash up for supper, you know…" He slipped out the door, intending to continue up the steps to his bedroom, but stopped in his tracks and stuck his head back through the bedroom door.

"Percy?" He looked up, but didn't answer immediately. Ron took that as a sign that he was listening. "You made Fred laugh. I know, it sounds shocking, but you saw the smile on his face! I think you made it up to him after all." Without waiting to hear Percy's response (which was unlikely to come right away, as he was looking rather stricken), Ron vacated the room yet again and climbed up a few steps before sinking onto the landing, feeling as winded as though he'd recently run a marathon.

The sound of excited voices emanating from the ground floor distracted Ron from his own thoughts. Heading back down the stairs, the plan to ensconce himself in his bedroom fully abandoned, he thought he heard a sob escape the barely-opened door of Fred and George's old bedroom, and was once again possessed by the image of how it would be if, in an instant, he lost everything he held dear through his own blindness and folly.

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_What did everyone think? Looks like Pompous Percy's got some dark secrets, poor cher. _

_Reviews are pulling me through this endless week, even though it's only Wednesday. I realized that around eight this morning and it really got me down._

_Next up: Bill, who is amazed by Ron's thickheadedness!_

_On va se 'oir...TOMORROW! Yay!_

_Delilah_


	4. I Only Have Eyes For You

_Day 4, Readers...I astound myself with my punctuality this week! Bill takes center stage in this chapter...and he's amazed by Ron's lack of common sense!_

_Thanks to chapter 3's reviewers **PeacockGirl, Contagious Pickle** and **Dimcairien**. Reading your reviews really helped to get me through a rough day. Sorry I haven't replied to them; my Blackberry won't let me sign in because it hates me._

_Enjoy!_

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I Only Have Eyes For You

The arrival of the remaining Weasley siblings drove thoughts of Hermione from Ron's imagination for the first time that night. Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen, a wooden spoon still clutched in one hand, to fuss over the state of Bill's hair as Ginny, squealing with delight and trailed closely by her adoring nieces, snatched little Louis out of his father's arms. She seemed very taken with babies, lately. Ron suspected it was a hormonal thing and briefly considered mentioning this theory to Hermione the next time he had a spare moment.

However, he didn't have time to dwell on Ginny, or Hermione, for that matter. The room was becoming alarmingly crowded as flurries of red hair streaked past in all directions and Weasleys called out greetings to those who had just arrived. It felt like old times, only with more people present. Harry and Fleur settled down in the sitting room, swapping tales of the Triwizard Tournament to the amusement of Percy's wife Audrey and the little girls that had followed Ginny inside. Bill, however, made straight for Ron.

"So, my little brother—a married man! Who'd have thought?" he roared jovially over the sound of the crowd of chattering Weasley relatives. Then, lowering his voice, he murmured in Ron's ear, "Seriously, Ron, how are you feeling? Nervous?"

"A bit," conceded Ron, wondering if his parents and siblings had rehearsed what they were going to say to him. It was remarkable, really, how they all managed to ask him the exact same question, almost word-for-word. Perhaps they had called some sort of secret meeting last Tuesday night, when he had been out to dinner with Hermione's parents. Whatever the case was, Bill remained supremely unfooled by Ron's casual response and his matching, carefully cultivated casual demeanor. He pulled Ron off to the side, on the pretext of hanging up his jacket in the tiny, half-forgotten cupboard under the stairs that led up to the bedrooms, which Harry avoided whenever he visited, preferring to hang his cloak or jacket elsewhere.

Bill stepped into the shadow of the cupboard's open door and faced Ron inquisitively.

"So—wondering how you're gonna go about it?" he asked shrewdly, watching Ron's face for signs of agreement.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," said Ron lightly. Bill laughed. "I felt the same way before I got married," he confessed.

"Really?" asked Ron incredulously, not bothering to hide his surprise. His big brother, Bill, always so cool, so unruffled…worried? About a _wedding_? Something that apparently only girls, Mrs. Weasley chief among them, placed serious emotional investment in?

"Sure," replied Bill. "Of course. Starting a whole new life, with someone else…it's enough to scare anyone. But Fleur and I, we've learned how to make it work. And it got us through six years, and three kids, and Christmas at Mum's house…"

"What? What did you learn?" asked Ron eagerly, keen to hear the secret behind his brother's success in setting up house with a part-veela and popping out a handful of gorgeous, bilingual kids.

Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially, looking for a moment as though he was whispering into Arthur's worn travelling cloak and ancient Muggle bomber jacket.

"You've got to look at her, every day, and see the woman you fell in love with."

Ron was dumbfounded, convinced Bill had lost his mind.

_THAT'S his brilliant advice? To look at Hermione and see…Hermione? In short, not to go blind or senile?_

"Um, Bill…I think you're confused. It's Percy who wears glasses. My vision's just fine. When I look at Hermione, I see her perfectly well."

"You prat, Ron," moaned Bill. "I mean that when Hermione wakes up eight months pregnant with your big redheaded baby, bloated and huge, stuffing her face with ice cream drenched in steak sauce, you still have to see her as the most beautiful, incredible woman you've ever met."

"Why?"

"Why!" At this point, Bill was looking highly indignant, practically frightened by Ron's ignorance. In fact, Bill bore a marked resemblence to the way Fred and George often had at school, whenever they tried to convince people that they weren't related to Ron and the family resemblance was merely an unfortunate coincidence. "_Why?_ Because someday, you'll be old and balding with hair growing out of your ears and Hermione will still look at you and see the young, fit, reasonably good-looking bloke she inexplicably fell in love with."

Ron nodded, cottoning on. "And that works for you?"

Still wide-eyed, Bill nodded in the affirmative. "Look at me. No one would ever believe that I used to be the good-looking one in the family. I look like someone took a whole drawer full of knives to my face. I look more like Mad-Eye Moody than anybody in this family. Fleur could've left me when I was attacked. I would've understood, I guess, even if it upset me. She could've gotten out before it was too late, before she'd be stuck waking up to this every morning. Mum even said so. But she _didn't_. She still looks at me like I'm the most handsome man she's ever seen."

Ron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "No, really," insisted Bill, "She's so beautiful…she could've done way better than me, but she didn't see it that way."

"Well, I guess that makes your job easy," replied Ron. "It can't be that hard to look at Fleur and convince yourself you're seeing a goddess."

"You'd be surprised," rejoined Bill. "I've seen Fleur after she hasn't slept in three nights or showered in two days, covered in baby spit and mashed up carrots, wearing one of my old Weird Sisters t-shirts and her pyjama trousers. And I still think she's beautiful. But not because she's part-veela, or tall, or blonde, or graceful. Because she still loved me even at my lowest hour. Because she gave me three beautiful children."

Lost for words, Ron nodded. "So I just have to think about how beautiful I think Hermione is, even when she's ugly?"

"That's the idiot-proof version of what I'm trying to say, yes," said Bill, rolling his eyes. "And that goes for her personality, too. Fleur swears in French when she gets riled up. Lord only knows what she calls me. But do I care? Not really. She could be calling me an ugly bastard, but it sounds kind of sexy, to be honest, so I won't complain." He winked at Ron, his scarred face looking eerily contorted for a moment.

"Hermione uses loads of weird insults she probably looked up in the dictionary with the sole purpose of making me feel daft," admitted Ron. "And according to you, I have to like it?"

"No, you don't have to _like_ it. That's optional. But you _do_ have to bear in mind the kind of rubbish she puts up with coming out of your mouth," Bill explained as Ron nodded again.

"Supper's on!" came a piercing call from somewhere beyond the cupboard and Bill, clapping Ron on the shoulder fondly, said, "That's my cue, bro. See you at supper."

And without hesitation, Ron followed his eldest brother into the already-crowded kitchen and set himself to the task of finding a place at the rapidly-filling table, completely covered in dishes of his mother's sumptuous cooking.

* * *

_Well, what did you think? I'd really love to hear from you. I'll leave it at that because I'm just far too tired to go on. Please review._

_On va se 'oir demain,_

_Delilah_


	5. Fun Is No Laughing Matter

_Ooh, so sorry, I forgot to give you a sneak peek last time. I really was tired, I suppose. This week has had no end in sight since Monday. It really has been torture._

_I'm on my way out for some celebration, so I'll be quick:_

_A million thanks to Bill's reviewers: **Bookworm41, Dimcairien, PeacockGirl, **and **Contagious Pickle**. I'm so glad you guys loved sweet, clueless Ron and Bill, of course. _

_In response to whether Harry and Ginny are married yet: yes, they are, for about a year at this point, give or take a little time. More on them in this chapter; there were some tiny little hints in the last chapter!_

_Enjoy-Charlie stars this time around!_

* * *

Fun Is No Laughing Matter

Dinner was the same noisy, crowded and thoroughly enjoyable affair that had come to represent the norm in the Weasley household. Meat and vegetables were cut up small by obliging relatives for the youngest additions to the Weasley family tree. Congratulations were offered across the table to Harry and Ginny, who had recently learned they were expecting their first child, prompting more happy tears from Mrs. Weasley, though admittedly it took surprisingly little to move her to tears as of late. As his assorted sons, daughter, in-laws and grandchildren settled into their chairs, Arthur Weasley called for attention and solemnly raised his glass.

"I'd just like to propose a toast to Ron, on the eve of his wedding day. May you and Hermione share nothing but happiness."

"Here, here!" echoed up and down the table, to the clinking of glasses.

"Don't see why you shouldn't have anything but happiness," said Charlie from his seat across from Ron, his mouth bulging with mashed potatoes. He swallowed before adding, "You're a fun-loving bloke, Ron, you'll keep things light."

"What do you mean?" asked his mother from the spot where she customarily held court at the very end of the table.

"Well, you know," replied Charlie, trying to illustrate his exact meaning with a variety of somewhat ambiguous hand gestures. "He can't be serious all the time—"

"He can't be serious _any_ of the time!" chided Ginny all the way down the other end of the table, flashing a mischievous look at her husband. Ron and Harry grimaced.

"_Really_," insisted Charlie over the chorus of laughter that had erupted around his at this last remark. "I mean, if you and Hermione spent all your time worrying about every single little thing that happened, or might happen, you'd go mad. She wouldn't want to stay married to a raging, paranoid nutter, and she'd leave you…"

"I thought you said we'd both go mad? So we'd be nutters together then."

Charlie waved a hand impatiently, as though to brush Ron's speculation aside and scatter it on the winds. "Doesn't matter," he concluded. "Is that any way to live?"

"Well, what do you propose?" asked Molly Weasley, slight amusement in her voice. "The big marriage expert must share his knowledge with us."

Laughing heartily along with everyone else this time, Charlie cleared his throat. "Ron," he began, addressing himself to his brother instead of the crowd around them, "you just have to have fun with her."

"Oh, I think we can all be certain Ron's going to have _plenty_ of 'fun' with Hermione," said Bill, a sly grin spreading across his face as he added, "You dog, you!"

"Bill!" gasped his mother, looking torn between indignation and the faintest amusement as Fleur swatted Bill lightly on the forearm. "There are _children _here!"

"What I _meant_," replied Charlie, grinning wickedly at Bill all the while, "was that Ron needs to always keep in mind the fact that marriage isn't supposed to be a chore. He shouldn't wake up in the morning thinking, 'Good Lord, what a bore it is being married to this woman!' He should be waking up excited to see her and spend time with her, and that's only going to happen if they have fun together. You know, find something they both like to do, or…something like that."

Bill snorted into his plate and George started choking on his carrots, prompting Percy and Ginny to whack him forcefully on the back from either side. "I'm—all—right!" he spluttered. "There's no need to beat me to death, you know!"

"See, Charlie, you almost killed George!" chided Bill. Charlie looked genuinely shocked. "What did I do?" he asked heatedly.

"You're the one who came out with that ridiculous stuff about Ron and Hermione finding something to do together that they both like!" laughed George, who seemed to have recovered rather instantaneously.

Molly frowned at him. "What's so ridiculous about that?" she asked. "I actually think Charlie had a bit of a point."

Charlie dropped his fork in surprise.

"I had a point?" he asked in awe.

"Yes, you did," she replied. "What did you have in mind?"

Charlie cast a severe look at Ron, daring him to laugh, as he shrugged and said, "I don't know…maybe Ron could teach Hermione to play Quidditch, or she could teach you how to…read or something?" He buried his face in his hands to stifle his laughter as Ron swatted him in the back of the head, howling, "I can _read!_"

"Well, what else would you do with Hermione for fun?" asked Bill. Ginny scowled, though she was smiling at the same time. "That's not fair," she said, giggling. "Hermione's interested in loads of stuff other than reading and books."

"Discussing your and Harry's love life probably isn't interesting to Ron, no matter how much you and Hermione enjoy it," insisted George. Everyone laughed, including Harry and Ginny, though they were blushing.

"Anyway," said Charlie, trying to recapture his audience, "once you and Hermione find something you can do together, it'll take stress off the relationship—" He hurriedly shushed Ron, who was insisting that there _was_ no stress on his and Hermione's relationship, "—and you two won't row as much, _which you know you do, Ron_! Maybe she'll relax a bit more and not be so…Hermione…and you'll get to know a bit more about what each other likes."

"Well said, son," said Arthur, while Molly nodded in the background. Ron, however, was carefully avoiding the meaningful looks various members of his family were giving him by focusing his entire attention on his plate, as though his cherry cobbler had suddenly been inscribed with an insightful message from sources unknown.

_This is so weird,_ he thought fervently, _can't they leave me alone when I eat? I thought asking for advice was a good idea, but it's making me feel even worse. How am I supposed to remember all this stuff? I can hardly remember rubbish like our anniversary and what kind of flowers Hermione likes!_

"Goodness, will you look at the time?" said Molly suddenly, causing everyone at the table to look up from their dessert. "We have to be up early in the morning and there's still so much to do before bed! Now, Arthur, if you could go out and see to the yard…Ginny, be a dear and straighten up the sitting room…"

Vaguely wondering if he could perhaps claim not to have packed something and therefore resume his earlier plan to head up to his room, Ron was jolted back by the mention of his own name.

"—And Ron, if you could help him, it'll be done twice as fast."

"Help…what?"

"Ron!" said Ginny, "Stop thinking about Hermione for five seconds of your life and listen to Mum, so we don't have to hear her go through that whole list all over again!" Smirking, she followed Bill and Charlie out of the kitchen.

"You're supposed to help me straighten up this mess," said George, waving a hand to indicate the table full of dirty dishes and the pots and pans still resting on the stovetop.

Ron groaned, his escape thwarted yet again by circumstances outside his control.

* * *

_What are your thoughts on this one? I'd really, really love to hear from you, so **please review!**_

_I'll be seeing you...demain, for a change (or not)! Either before or after I go to the dentist...well, _that_ narrows it down..._

_Delilah_


	6. Halves and Whole

_Behold, Readers: part 6 of 7! The end, it seems, is in sight._

_Sorry if last chapter was a bit less focused than the others. Firstly, it was a transitional chapter which was necessary to get from before dinner to after dinner. Mealtimes seem to be a rather chaotic experience, especially with so many at the table, and I wanted to convey a little of that. I also realze it might have seemed a bit odd, Ron's unmarried brother giving him marital advice, but anyone can technically give advice on a subject. The question is, just how reliable do you consider their advice to be? Ah, well...those were my thoughts, at least. I thought i'd voice them now, as George, who offers his thoughts in this chapter, is neither declared to be married nor unmarried in the story. You can do with that as you please; I couldn't decide which way I wanted to go. He is, however, in a relationship, so that lends something to the table. _

_Enjoy!_

_And of course, I couldn't possibly forget to thank my reviewers: **PeacockGirl, A Random Person, Arianna Elizabeth Jackson, Bookworm41, ivyflightislistening **and** Dimcairien**. The novocaine must have affected my brain, but don't worry-your reviews still rock my world. Thanks also to any new subscribers and Favorites-you know who you are!_

* * *

Halves and Whole

They moved in silence, gathering up the dirty dishes Muggle-style, they way they had done it when they were kids. George flicked his wand at the sink, and soapy water engulfed the dinner dishes as Ron pointed his own wand at a damp rag that instantly leapt up to clean off the surface of the table. He watched its progress for a minute or two, as it left a shiny stripe of moisture behind it on the scrubbed wood surface. Looking up, Ron saw George eyeing him seriously. He felt strangely unnerved. Though George had become somewhat more subdued since Fred's death, in recent years he had regained much of his former joviality. It was odd to see him looking so purposeful and serious, especially as he had been joking about Ron and Hermione taking up a mutual hobby not half an hour before.

"How much do you love her, Ron?" he asked out of nowhere. Ron felt his ears growing hot. _I am _not_ discussing this with George, of all people…it felt weird enough bringing it up with Mum…I cannot believe I'm doing this…_

Sometimes, there is nothing left to do but surrender.

"I can't even explain it," Ron found himself saying. "Sometimes, she drives me so mad, I just wanna scream. But…" He hesitated. How could he put that feeling into words, the way Hermione filled him up with light and warmth? He struggled a bit, as Hermione was always better with…feelings and such. "She just makes me feel so…like I'm _home_. I feel comfortable with her. I want to take care of her, make her happy…"

George, who had remained silent through this whole monologue, held up a hand to silence Ron in an uncharacteristically subtle manner. He took a deep, steadying breath and asked the question he had intended all along.

"What I mean is, is she your better _half_?"

"What?"

It sounded cliché, stupid even. Better half? It was the sort of thing you'd see written on a greeting card, and not a particularly eloquent one at that. The kind, in Ron's opinion, that you would purchase for a couple you don't particularly like, but whose wedding you were forced to attend for one reason or another, even if that reason was the superior quality of the free food. George, however, did not seem to have registered this.

"Your better half," repeated George. "When she's away from you, do you feel like less of a person? Like something's missing, something essential? Do you only feel complete when you're with her? Are your thoughts so in sync with each other that you don't have to ask her what's wrong when you sense she's upset, because you already know?"

"Is that how you feel, about Angelina?" whispered Ron, in awe of the seeming depth of his brother's perception. This was strange, uncharted territory…the emotional range of his older brother, possible the last person in the world Ron would picture spouting sonnets or composing love ballads under his beloved's window. George shook his head, somewhat sadly.

"Me and Angie…we've got something special, but…I think there's only ever one person who can be your better half. It's like…" His eyes seemed out-of-focus, lost in a dream world that was both inviting and tragic at the same time. "…Everyone's a puzzle piece, spending their whole life looking for their match, that _one person _who can make them complete. Sometimes it's your mum, or dad, or your own child. Sometimes it's a friend. Your best mate. And sometimes it's a husband or wife." He broke off, looking thoughtfully at his hands, and Ron suddenly understood. _How could I have missed it? It was so obvious…_

"It was Fred, wasn't it?" he asked, feeling a lump rising, unbidden, in his throat. George nodded.

"Me and Fred were, I think, the only people in the whole world who could really understand each other (_Small wonder,_ thought Ron.) Maybe it's because we actually _were_ the same person, at least for a little while, then spent nine months with no one else in the world around but each other. When he died, I thought part of me had died with him. Part of me _did_ die that night, I think-my best part. It was like losing an arm or a leg, only much, much worse. It was like losing part of my _soul_. It was the worst I've ever felt. Is that how you'd feel if you lost Hermione?"

Ron though. His musings carried him, unwillingly, back to a tent, hidden in a desolate corner of the woods. Rain pounded disconsolately on its canvas roof. Ron saw himself, a monstrous dream-Ron, terrible in the force of his anger, glaring aggressively at Harry from across the room. He saw himself turn to face Hermione and demand roughly of her, "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" She had looked frightened, startled by his bluntness. He had scared her, and what's worse: he had not even cared.

"Are you staying, or what?"

"I…yes—yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help—" That had been the death knell, the straw that had broken dream-Ron's resolve. He glared, both frightening and wounded at the same time, at dream-Hermione. The very memory of what had followed make Ron feel slightly sick.

"I get it. You choose him." _Why, _how_ could I have said that to her?_

Ron shook himself, both literally and mentally, trying to rid his mind's eye of the horrible images of dream-Ron, turning his back on the woman he so dearly loved as her piteous sobs echoed even over the driving pound of the rain: "Ron, no—please—come back, come back!" Her voice grew fainter as he stalked away, even as George's voice grew stronger, summoning Ron back to the here-and-now, to his mother's kitchen, where he still stood, dazed, the damp rag at his fingertips.

"Is that how you'd feel if you lost Hermione?"

"It was," choked out Ron. George raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but Ron had no plans of elaborating on the tale. He'd never told anyone exactly what had happened, and to this day, no one apart from Harry, Hermione, Bill and Fleur knew that he'd run away at all.

"We had…a row, once," he said instead, by way of explanation. "A bad one. I walked out on her. I heard her calling after me, and…well, when I'd cooled down a bit, it was too late. She'd left. And…I dunno, I felt like I'd destroyed the best thing I had. It really hurt. It still does, come to think of it."

George nodded, understanding exactly the kind of pain Ron was implying. "Remember that," he said simply. "When stuff gets out of hand, and you're sick of each other, and she's nagging you, and you're driving her mad—being you, I'm sure it'll happen sooner rather than later—just think about how it felt when you thought you'd never see her again. That'll stop you from doing or saying anything _too_ stupid."

Ron nodded emphatically, ignoring the slight on his personality that George had slipped in, casually camouflaged as brotherly concern. "Thanks, George," he said sincerely. "You know, you're pretty smart…for a bloke who spends his days selling wands that turn into pairs of briefs."

George smirked. "Well, we all I got the brains in this family…_and_ the good looks, too. Those trick wands will put my kids through Hogwarts someday. You lot are just lucky to have me around, I guess."

Swallowing his retort, Ron headed back upstairs, to get some last-minute packing done before turning in early, the last night he'd spend under his mother and father's roof. As he walked, he reflected quietly on how sincerely glad he was that _he_ wasn't born a twin, perhaps destined to someday lose the one person who he could truthfully say comprised part of him. Losing Hermione once had been bad enough.

* * *

_Poor George. I can only imagine the kind of bond he and Fred had. While only Ron knows for sure if Hermione is his 'better half', I think we can all speculate on that one._

_Next chapter's the last one: Ginny! I know I got some inquiries about other people who are close to Ron, but I decided to keep it in the immediate Weasley family. Cheers, people who have just read all that and are **about to review!** (Hint!)_

_On va se 'oir demain, for the last time on this fic at least!_

_Delilah_


	7. The Comfort of Knowing

_Guess what, readers? The end is, in fatc, NOT here. I have decided to add one more chapter: an Epilogue. Details to follow at the end of this chapter._

_Ginny takes her turn in talking Ron 'round. Enjoy!_

_And thank you, once more, to last chapter's reviewers: **Contagious Pickle, Adatrix** and **PeacockGirl.** Thanks a million!_

* * *

The Comfort of Knowing The Best Is Yet To Come

Ron laid in bed, the unfamiliar guest sheets uncomfortable around his body, reflecting on the various scenarios his weary brain had cooked up, all of them involving the vows he'd be taking in just a few hours' time; the sight of Hermione, gliding down the aisle on her father's arm; the feel of her lips on his as they would exchange their first kiss as a married couple.

Ron grunted slightly as he rolled over onto his side, still trying to get comfortable. From his bed, he could see a carton crammed full of his old comic books. It was time to cast aside childish things, it seemed.

A soft noise coming from the vicinity of the doorway behind him caused Ron to roll back over. _Who'd be bothering me at this hour of the—?_

Clad in a long dressing gown, her hair braided down her back, carrying two steaming mugs of what looked to be hot chocolate, was Ginny. She looked a lot like she did as a little girl, when she'd occasionally sneak up to Ron's room when she couldn't sleep, and they would sit up and talk in whispers for hours.

"Can I sit?" she asked shortly. Ron sat up and nodded, extending a hand towards the foot of his bed. He felt the groan of bedsprings as Ginny's weight was added to them. She held out one of the chipped mugs toward him, simultaneously taking a sip from the other and smiling as the sweet, scalding cocoa passed her lips. Ron inhaled deeply.

"So," he said, casting around for something to say. His eyes fell on her stomach, partially-concealed by the mug in her hand. "You and Harry. A baby. That's great, Ginny, really great."

Ginny smiled, her cheeks growing slightly pink. "Are you scared?" Ron asked. She was, after all, his little sister; it was still his responsibility to look after her, even if she was grown-up now, a married woman, expecting a baby.

"A little," conceded Ginny, setting her mug down on the bedside table and wrapping her arms around her body. "Sometimes, I wonder how Mum did it all those years…with seven of us, and all. The idea of _one_ baby is enough to scare me a bit." She paused to take another sip of cocoa, looking thoughtfully at her older brother. "How about you? Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

The same question he'd answered, in various ways, for every single member of his immediate family in the past few hours. Ron debated saying no for once, feigning bravado and escaping yet _another_ installment of familial advice, but as he tried to form the words, he found he couldn't. Not to Ginny. Not to the one member of the family he was closest to. He and Ginny were closer in age than any of the other Weasley siblings, save of course Fred and George. They had shared a room for the better part of their mutual childhood, until most of their older siblings had been shipped off to Hogwarts and ginny had been moved downstairs. They had a lot of the same friends and would, as of tomorrow, be married to each other's respective best mate. No, if there was one person in this overcrowded house Ron felt the need to be honest with, it was Ginny.

"I'm just short of terrified, I'd say," he confessed baldly. "Everyone's been trying to give me advice all day and I have no clue what this lot's supposed to mean, anyway. A whole bunch of it completely contradicts itself. Mum told me we're gonna have to learn to compromise, but Dad told me that Hermione's always right, no matter what…if I get one more piece of advice from anyone, my head's going to explode!"

Ginny chuckled softly. "I won't try to give you advice, then," she conceded.

Ron snorted into his hot chocolate. "What kind of advice were you planning, anyway? You've been married for all of what, five minutes?"

Ginny gasped theatrically, feigning offense. "Five minutes! It's been over a year already, thank _you_. You said you got advice from Percy and he hasn't been married much longer than me."

"I didn't _want_ to; he kind of _forced _it on me. You know how he is."

Nodding reminiscently, the siblings slipped into a comfortable silence. Ginny took another deep sip of hot chocolate and remarked casually, "Just between us, I always wondered how you ended up with a girl like Hermione to begin with."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, sensing a taunt somewhere in all this.

"Look at you two! Hermione's so smart, she's rather serious about most things, she's a perfectionist, where you…"

"Do you really want to finish that sentence?"

"Come off it, Ron, we grew up with you. I've known you all my life. Everyone here knows you're an underachiever, a complete slob, a jokester and lazy as well!" Seeing the look on Ron's face, she hastily added, "But you're also my big brother, and I still love you."

Ron reached behind him for his old pillow and swung it around to whack Ginny full in the face.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know what it's for!"

"Quit it, I'm pregnant, remember?"

"Aw, come off it, a little pillow fight's not gonna hurt the baby!"

Nevertheless, he put the pillow down obediently. Recovering from the sudden attack's even more sudden end, Ginny brushed several stray hairs out of her face before continuing, "I shouldn't be surprised, though. I'm not, to be honest. Hermione's good with feelings and all, but when it applies to someone else. She could tell I liked Harry for ages, but it took her the better part of what, seven, eight years? To start going out with you?"

"Hermione and I were taking it slow," Ron insisted. Ginny snorted.

"Gravity could've moved you in the right direction faster than you were going."

This remark was followed by another swat with the pillow, behind which Ginny sputtered, "But seriously, Ron, it's not like you and Hermione will row two days after the wedding and split up; you two have bickered back and forth for years, and yet you've made it this far."

Ron considered this remark. She was right, he and Hermione had argued about practically every subject it was humanly possible to argue about, and yet they hadn't given up on each other. This gave him hope.

Ginny, meanwhile, was still speaking. "I mean, your relationship, or whatever it was at the time, survived seven years at Hogwarts, her cat supposedly eating your rat, jealousy, Harry's issues, a war and a nine-month-long camping trip from hell. Marriage shouldn't be too much harder."

It was like magic. As she spoke these words, the weight in Ron's chest lifted; the fog in his numb brain cleared. Rather than feeling clammy and cold with dread, he felt pleasantly cool and lighter than he'd felt all day. The churning anxiety in the pit of his stomach had given way to a mild excitement. It felt absolutely _wonderful_.

"Thanks, Ginny," said Ron earnestly. "Thanks a _lot_. You really helped, more than anyone else, as a matter of fact. You're right. I don't see what I was so worked up about," he added happily. "If me and Hermione haven't killed each other yet, our marriage is destined to last forever!"

And, draining the rest of his hot chocolate in one, Ron laid back down in bed with a supremely content look on his face. Ginny smiled, kissed her brother swiftly on the cheek, and whispered. "Good luck tomorrow, big brother. I love you." Silent as a cat, she gathered up her mug and tiptoed down the stairs to her old bedroom.

"I love you, too," mumbled Ron into his pillowcase, intending it as much for the sister who had laid his fears to rest as he did for the woman who, sleeping peacefully in her own childhood bedroom miles away from him, would shortly be his wife.

* * *

_Okay, okay, I caved. Harry will be getting his own chance to give advice to Ron-he's the focus of the Epilogue, which is soon to follow. I guess I just wasn't ready to say goodbye yet._

_Please review! I only got 3 last chapter, and I do love reading your thoughts. Loved it, hated it...just let me know. I won't take offense._

_'Til tomorrow, cheres,_

_Delilah_


	8. Epilogue: You Won't Need It

_Aw, my friends, the end has come, as it must do to all good things. I'll spare you the theatrics and cut to the chase: Harry's last-minute advice for his best friend mere moments before the wedding we've all been waiting for. _

_Thanks to every single one of you who's read, enjoyed, reviewed, favorited or subscribed to this story. You are all, withoud a doubt, beyond compare. Special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: **Contagious Pickle, madyb713, ivyflightislistening, Dimcairien, PeacockGirl, whispered touches, Arianna Elizabeth Jackson, SilverWolf77 **__and__** Bookworm41! **_

* * *

Epilogue: You Won't Need It

The sky was a clear, cloudless blue; the sun shined down lazily on the assembled guests below. Men and women and children found their way into seats and chattered excitedly as they anticipated the start of a long-awaited wedding.

Inside, Ron stood before the full-length mirror, buttoning up his dress robes and adjusting the flower that had been carefully placed in his buttonhole. It seemed like his hair wasn't willing to cooperate today. _Brilliant timing_.

"Ron, you in there?" came a voice from somewhere behind the closed door, and Ron beckoned the voice's owner inside.

Harry was already dressed, in dress robes very similar to Ron's, though Ron personally thought that he himself wore them better, being taller and more dashing and all. His eyes lingered for a moment on the gold wedding band on Harry's finger, then he broke into a wide, giddy grin he was powerless to suppress.

Harry was trying to flatten his hair in the mirror in a gesture that had remained unchanged in all the years Ron had known him. He caught sight of the grin borne by Ron's reflection.

"What's so funny?" he asked. Ron tried to stop smiling, but couldn't.

"Nothing. I can't help it. I'm so excited."

Harry looked momentarily surprised. "You're not nervous?" he asked in disbelief.

"No," said Ron truthfully. After carrying around the burden of his own nerves all day yesterday, he was finally, mercifully free of them. Ginny had seen to that.

Harry nodded, still looking as though he didn't quite believe Ron's assurances. "Well, I guess you don't need me, then. I just came in to check that you were all ready…maybe give you a word or two of advice, you know…best man to bridegroom…"

Ron directed his grin at Harry this time, at his best friend in the world, the one person who understood him better than Hermione, supported him better than Ginny, and kept his feet on the ground better than his own mother. The only person he'd conceded was good enough for his little sister. The man who was now a closer brother to him than all of his actual, biological brothers combined.

"Can I ask you something Harry?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Sure, anything," he said.

"Did you lot have a family meeting or something and plan to give me all sorts of weird advice?"

Harry looked taken aback for only a second or so. "What?" he asked in utter confusion. Ron repeated his question, explaining, "Since yesterday, everyone's been trying to catch me on my own and give me advice. It's like they knew I was worried or something. It was weird."

Harry laughed. "Well, it must have worked, mate," he said, brushing a wrinkle stubbornly out of one of his sleeves. "You don't look nervous anymore. You looked like hell yesterday, though."

"Thanks, Harry," rejoined Ron sarcastically. They stood in silence for a moment, watching their reflections and remembering other times they'd stood, side-by-side in a mirror. Ron remembered vividly fighting four other boys for time before the mirror as he dressed for the Yule Ball, lamenting the state of his hideous secondhand dress robes as Harry tried with all his might to console him. He remembered squeezing in next to Harry in front of an enchanted mirror, trying in vain to see the various long-dead relations Harry was jubilantly pointing out while only seeing a splendid vision of himself, older and so much more accomplished: Head Boy, Quidditch Captain and the best Weasley of them all. Ron felt a glow inside, privately thinking that, if faced with the Mirror of Erised now, he would see himself exactly as he was—overcome with joy at the prospect of shortly marrying Hermione Granger. The stupid grin had not yet faded from his face.

Harry, meanwhile, was checking his battered old watch, the one that had once belonged to Ron's late Uncle Fabian, which Harry had received from the Weasleys as a coming-of-age gift. "It's nearly time," he said, nudging Ron, who was still smiling into the mirror. "Quit it with the Lockhart impressions and let's go."

Ron followed obediently, trying still harder to hide his glee, or at least take it down to a more subdued level, so as to appear cool and confidant, but not overly giddy.

"Hey, Harry," Ron whispered as the pair of them took their places at the front of the congregation. "You never told me what your advice was gonna be. What were you planning on saying to me?"

Harry shrugged and whispered back, "Does it really matter? I already told you, you don't look like you need advice, not anymore."

Ron persisted. There wasn't much time left in which he would still be an unmarried man, in the position to solicit advice of this sort, and he felt strange, getting married without some words of comfort from his best mate. "C'mon, Harry…you're gonna make me nervous again," he said, keeping his voice low as the officiant took his place beside Harry and Ron.

Harry smiled back at Ron and patted him fraternally on the back. "You _don't need advice_, Ron," he insisted. "I've known you and Hermione since we were eleven. I spent the better part of seven years living with the two of you. I've been there for all the rows, the disagreements, the vicious verbal assaults on Viktor Krum, the disastrous Lavender Brown episode, you walking out, Hermione crying every night after you walked out…all of it. You don't need luck, or advice, or any of it. I'm not even gonna tell you to remember to do anything specific, or not to do something, because you two are fine just the way you are. I've heard you say her name in your sleep. I've even seen the way you look at each other when you think no one's looking. It's rather sickening. You're meant to be, Ron."

Music was swelling from somewhere. Ron turned to look Harry directly in the eye. "Are you sure?" he asked in an urgent whisper over the creaking of chairs, as the crowd turned in their seats to try and catch a glimpse of the bride.

"Dead serious," confirmed Harry. "Just be yourself. Hermione loves you just for who you are. I mean, if she could fall in love with someone who drove her completely mad, who she argued with all the time and had almost nothing in common with, then you've got the hardest part done already, mate. Best you could do is just be _you_, as that's what Hermione's mad about."

Ron nodded, his heart stopping in his chest as he caught sight of a vision in white at the other end of the aisle, gliding with more grace than Hermione was commonly known to, on the arm of her father, who seemed slightly torn over handing over his daughter to this awkward-looking young man.

"Hey, Ron," whispered Harry as Hermione drew near, grinning the same radiant smile Ron knew to have fixed on his own face and looking more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. Ron nodded slightly to let Harry know he had heard, still not taking his eyes off his fiancée. "Yeah?"

"Take good care of my sister, okay, mate?"

Ron took his eyes from his bride for a moment, to look at the man to whom he had directed those same exact words only about a year ago. Harry had mentioned that Hermione was like a sister to him before, and now here he was, giving her away to Ron, so to speak (though Hermione herself would object to the idea of being 'given away', Ron was sure). So that was Harry's advice—to take good care of the woman he felt was more than a friend, but rather a sister to him. As he stepped forward to take Hermione's hand, he whispered back to Harry,

"Don't worry, mate. I will. I'll never stop loving her."

Her hand felt light in his, and her touch against his skin felt like an electric shock, just like it had in those days when he was still pining for her but couldn't quite get his longing across in words. He seemed to be living in a slow-motion, highly colored dream (as Harry had once described the first Triwizard task; now Ron finally understood the sensation), where the only things that were real were himself and Hermione, and through all this, the sound of a man's voice reached him…

"Do you, Ronald Bilius, take Hermione Jean to be your wedded wife?"

The right words had never come to him quicker, or more easily. "I do," said Ron, silently vowing in that instant to do all of his concerned family members proud and be love Hermione the way she truly deserved every day for the remainder of his life. They had given him their advice. Now it was his turn to put it to good use. Which he most certainly would.

* * *

_And...fin! Oh, readers, what did you think? This would be your last chance to leave your thoughts on this chapter, as well as the story as a whole, so make it count! Regardless of whether you loved it, hated it or were merely 'on the fence', so to speak, I would LOVE to hear from you. For the last time in this story: **please review!**_

_Since this was the end, I'll have to dispense with my usual greeting. As I wrote to a reader who once asked me, 'On va se 'oir' translates basically to 'We'll see each other'. It's how I say good-bye to most of my relatives when we part ways, or when we're talking on the phone. As we probably won't be seeing each other in the context of this particular story, I'll stick with a simple good-bye and hope our paths cross again in the future, in which case, 'on va se 'oir' would be more in order. I already see some of my regular** Children Will Play** readers in the reviews box, so it's not really good-bye._

_Once again, thanks for reading and being a terrific audience for my little story. It's been a real pleasure, for true._

_Yours, as always,_

_Delilah_


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